


Hot Like Chocolate

by tsuruko (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tsuruko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a cute boy sitting two seats down and on the opposite side of the table from him and Kuroo has been sufficiently distracted since he got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Like Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> I always want fluff and I always want coffee shop AUs. I smashed the two together kind of disastrously, and this isn't even a full fic, just a snippet of one, but I was feeling it, so it happened. I also like the idea of Kuroo being smitten and dumb and skljfhlasdjf yeah. I also just really like hot chocolate.

He’s pretty sure he’s not staring, at least he hopes he’s not staring. There’s a cute boy sitting two seats down and on the opposite side of the table from him and Kuroo has been sufficiently distracted since he got there. He’s seen him once or twice on coffee breaks, and they’ve sat at this table in the same seats at least once before. Kuroo isn’t sure if he would outwardly admit that he has at least a little bit of a crush on him, but he knows that’s what’s going on here. It’s been only a handful of minutes but Kuroo has glanced up at him from his textbook somewhere in the ballpark of a thousand times, reading the same line over and over and still not remembering a word it says. He’s more concerned with thinking up something clever to say to finally get the ball rolling on a conversation, but the only things that come to mind are embarrassingly cheesy pick-up lines that he has definitely used in the past. The cute boy looks up and their eyes catch through his glasses and Kuroo blinks at him before looking back to his book, caught red handed and no, he’s not blushing.

The boy looks back to his work as well, bent over what looks like a biology textbook and Kuroo fights the urge to swoon dramatically. They could talk about things like that, the great big world out there and what organisms, cells, make it up. Of course, Kuroo thought of ten million more terrible, awful, and not even remotely clever pick-up lines based on that.

Running a hand through his hair, he chances a glance at the boy again, blinking very rapidly when he realizes that he was no longer sitting there, but standing at the counter ordering something with an exceptionally bored look on his face. Kuroo took note of how tall he was, slender, long legs and arms and Kuroo decidedly did not look at the way the curve of his spine dipped down to meet his ass. There wasn’t anything Kuroo found physically unappealing about him, in fact, everything was shooting for an A+ in his book. If only he could talk to him.

Coffee cup in hand, the boy plops himself heavily in his seat, taking a sip and licking at his lips with the tip of his tongue. The textbook in front of him was open to a page on genetics, complete with a Punnett square in the top right corner and Kuroo fought the urge to smile to himself, to lean over the table and read the text with him. Their eyes meet again while he imagines this and the boy looks a little annoyed now, lips pursed and brows furrowed.

Kuroo only has enough time to think, _Shit_ , before the boy’s talking, looking directly at Kuroo, whose eyes are wide, deer in the headlights because he had been caught.

“Can I help you?” the boy asks, and Kuroo’s brain must be against him, because he notices that his voice suits him better than the one he had imagined him having instead of the fact that he sounds a little put off.

There are several things running through Kuroo’s mind at once, so many that he sputters a little trying to think of a good response. What comes out isn’t exactly what he intended, and he can almost hear the universe laughing at him when he says, “No, you just look exactly like the man of my dreams.”

Across the table, the boy blinks at him. “Is that so…” he says, disbelieving.

“Can I buy you a coffee or something?” Kuroo asks, pressing his palm against his face when the boy glances very pointedly down and the cup beside his textbook, little tendrils of steam rising from the lid. “Fair point. Um, I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”

“Tsukishima Kei,” he says. Kuroo bites the inside of his lip to prevent his grin from doubling in size. It fits, everything about him fits so well and, God, Kuroo would give his left arm to stop swooning at everything Tsukishima did and said. “Is that why you’ve been staring at me? You want to take me on a date.”

This time, Kuroo’s quick on his feet. Thankfully. “I mean, if you’re offering, sure.”

Tsukishima sighs through his nose, lips pursed again and Kuroo smirks to himself because this is so much better than he had imagined this would go, even if Tsukishima’s responses are all dripping in sarcasm, Kuroo sees the glint of interest in his eyes while they talk. Kuroo moves down to sit across from him, and their conversation goes on until they’re two of the few people still taking up residence in the cafe.

They exchange stories from high school when they find out they both played volleyball, both ended up as captain and co-captain in their third years, though Tsukishima is two years younger than Kuroo, their teams in prefectures that would not overlap until nationals, and neither of their teams made it that far in the years they could have played against each other. Their interests are similar, at least in what they brought up, and when Kuroo cracks a joke that catches Tsukishima off guard, he gets a smile, a chuckle, and then Tsukishima smothers it with a sip from his cup. Kuroo smiles with him until they’re told the cafe is closing in fifteen minutes.

“I should head home, anyway,” Tsukishima says, sounding almost dejected to Kuroo’s hopeful ears, and pushes himself away from the table. “It’s late.”

Kuroo stands with him, scooping up his long-forgotten schoolwork. He thinks for only a split second, weighing the pros and cons of asking, but that split second ends and Kuroo opens his mouth before he really has a conclusion. “Can I have your number?” Tsukishima looks up at him, his face unreadable. “Maybe we can meet here tomorrow and talk some more?”

“Sure,”

Tsukishima gives Kuroo his number and they part, Kuroo’s entire body tingling and he wants to dance, sing, shout from the top of the Tokyo Tower that he got the cute boy’s phone number, but he makes haste home instead, showing the contact information off to his roommates when he gets there. Akaashi congratulates him without actually looking at the screen of Kuroo’s phone, and Bokuto bounces around the room with him, going very still all of a sudden and asking if Kuroo’s got any pictures of Tsukishima with a wicked glint in his eyes.

When they meet the next night, Kuroo is dressed slightly nicer than he needed to be for a cafe date, but when Tsukishima shows up, he, too, is dressed to the sixes or sevens, and Kuroo can’t keep the color from his cheeks at Tsukishima’s smile when they spot each other.

“What can I get you?” Kuroo asks, leaning in close to be heard over the din of conversation around them. Tsukishima smells nice, like something spicy sweet, cinnamon, and the way it smells at the ocean when it rains. “Coffee with cream?”

“Hot chocolate, if that’s alright,” Tsukishima responds, sounding almost as if he thinks this is a ridiculous request. “Coffee gives me headaches if it’s not right after I wake up.”

Kuroo heard nothing past hot chocolate, too busy being smitten with this boy to really process words at the moment. Tsukishima gives him a funny look and Kuroo mutters something along the lines of “yeah, yeah” and goes to get their drinks. They sit in the same seats they did the night before, but this time, before saying goodbye, Kuroo kisses him, and Tsukishima’s lips are as warm as he imagined they’d be.

 


End file.
